


Not a Couple

by lenadenck



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenadenck/pseuds/lenadenck
Summary: Where John helps Sherlock, a Jew, in the middle of the Second Great War.*I AM NOT A FLUENT ENGLISH SPEAKER SO THIS MIGHT HAVE SOME MISTAKES!*





	1. Prolog

During another cold night in the country of Germany, even before he could open his eyes, Dr. John H. Watson already put the red flag in the front window of his small flat. It was a way of hiding the broken part of the window and also a way to protect himself. The simple of that decade was trying to survive just by the existence of a flag that, somehow, showed supposed to the Führer. 

The blue eyed blonde stared at the dark sky and rethought his life. There was not much to eat after work, because who used to cook in that flat was Mary, his first and only love, before she appeared with a broken smile and a suitcase revealing that she would go back to her mother's place. John couldn't deal with himself all alone, even having a good job and a place to live. Living in Germany at that time was complicated, because even if he had all that was needed to stay alive, the war still affected him in an extraordinary way. 

John had two jobs. One of them he had already finished in the day, which was to work at the hospital as a doctor. The other, at the night time, was taking care of the people that now lived in the street, without conditions to survive on their own houses. He also helped the sick and injured people that even having a place to live, couldn't afford to pay for medical treatment. He helped the population simply because he liked seeing the smiles on the faces of the young children who would be lost without his support. He graduated just for helping, not without any other intentions.

At that night, he took extra care to put more clothes on and hiding his work tools on his pockets. He locked the door twice and checked it for long minutes before looking at the sides just to see if his neighbors were looking at him. The people from that neighborhood complained all the time about the situation and all of the deaths, but spent their days looking though Windows just trying to discover another victim. 

He closed the long jacket, gray as the sky, the street and all of the place he was in and went to the closest neighborhood in total silence. He knew that if he found himself face to face with some of the evil people, he would be dead, but he would risk his life for his patients' health.

The first patient was one the oldest people in the neighborhood and the whole Germany, if he risked saying. The old man had more than 100 years and a lot of health problems, yet, he refused to go away. He simply used to say he would like to see how all of it would end. 

Analyzing all of those problems conjoined with the natural stress of someone who lived in that country during a war, he concluded that he couldn't really explain how the sir still could talk and stay sit down (he stopped walking when he was 102, but he still talked like a teenager).

His second patient was the sir's great-granddaughter, Edite, who now suffered with a throat tumor that wouldn't let her eat or feel tastes, not that she had enough food for that. The girl was literally dying on a small bed and that made John cry as soon as he got out of her house. 

His third patient would have been an old friend if he hadn't passed away days before his weekly checkup. The young doctor felt a terrible pain when he remembered that and the fact that he didn't have anyone else to take care.

He came back slowly to his flat, staring at all of the old houses around him, all of them with an ugly brown color, the only thing colorful being the red flag. Even the most rebel of the German had one of them on their window, as they wanted to live as much as anyone. 

He walked calmly as before.

But something had just changed.

The doors were still locked.

There was a boy standing in front of it.

-Please, - he said, - Help me?


	2. Ein

-Sorry? - Dr. Watson asked, not actually hearing his own voice because of how low it was. He was a cautious man, so he got worried at even whispering in a time like that. 

The man coughed sometimes before getting up and start to the explain himself. For some reason, Dr. Watson recognized his voice was so low because of how weak he was, not because he was trying to be cautious as the - probably - older one. 

-I'm freezing, can't actually walk anymore. - he started, pointing his long, thin finger to his legs. - If I continue here, I'll die so quickly that I won't feel any pain. Not any pain bigger than the one that I am already feeling. Please, I will do whatever you ask me. 

He knew, at that moment, that the man was a fugitive. Not because of his clothes or looks (for the love of God, Watson was not a person that judged with the eyes.), but because he said "please". None of the German at that moment of history would even worry to have the education to be polite, only if they were desperate. 

And John, in the same second, felt empathy.

Empathy for the pair of green eyes that stared at him with an euphoria almost surprising. The same euphoria he saw in the sick people he took care all day and night. And the same euphoria he saw in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror every morning, trying to discover which "kind of man he was". 

He thought for some time, recognizing the risk both of them were in standing in the street. Him and a fugitive.

-Here, follow me. - finally, he said, putting his arm behind the man's shoulders and bringing him up. 

They entered the house, Watson touched his own hair for some time, walking in circles. The unknown started at him in complete panick, without any idea of what he should or shouldn't do. 

-I am going to bring you some clothes. - announced. - You need to take a bath, so you can sleep well. But be careful, don't take too long. There is no doubt they are controlling my consumption. They might think: "look at this young man taking too many baths in only one day, something is wrong!" And then they would come to my house and murder me hitting my head a couple of times. I don't want to go. Okay, I will get those clothes. 

Right after, the blonde guy came back with white pajamas and a brown towel. Delivered the objects directly to the hands of the man and soon felt how cold his hands were. Imagined, for a little big of time, how many hours that poor man spent sitting in front of his door, waiting for death to come. 

-I won't take long, it's a promise. 

While he walked into the bathroom, a little bit more recovered, John was able to think about his appearance. He had dirty, wet hair, giving it a weird look, the green eyes shined and give that skinny, pale body some contrast. The skin, even pale, was completely dirty and the smell was not pleasing. Watson didn't blame him, in any way, because he was abandoned and scared, no one could judge him by his smell.

Watson spent some good ten minutes while waiting in his chair, that was right in front of another one, a little bit different. His sister used to sit there and talk to him about how life had been going at their parents's farm. 

Look, the Watson family was complicated. The doctor was the only one that lived alone, since he graduated in s good university. The dad got called to be an official for the nazis and now lived with John's mom in a farm, where no one could arrive without being invited. 

The fact is that John never got invited. And his sister simply stopped giving him news, even if he knew she didn't live with their parents anymore because of "her own circumstances".

-I believe these pajamas are not my size, but hey are great. Look, I am really sorry, I promise I will only stay this night. I know I bother you and that you, sir...

-Doctor. - John said, knowing how inconvenient this turned out to be. 

-And I know that you, doctor, is in danger because of me being inside of your home. - he said, messing with his hair.

Oh, they were curly.

-Why would you represent danger? - Watson's voice was clear, now that he was at his own home. He knew exactly why he was in danger, but he wanted to hear it from his mouth. 

-Well, I... You know, you understand exactly what I mean to say, I can see by the position of your mouth and your shoes and the extra locks on your door and maybe, but only maybe, the existence of a gun in that wardrobe. 

-How would my shoes represent that I know who you are? 

-I have no time to explain, but don't make me say why I'm hiding. I don't want you to call them, I prefer to die alone in the cold. If you are mad at me because of my situation, please, throw me outside and let me turn into a piece of ice. 

-You're Jew. - Watson concluded. The man waved with his head, closing his eyes and waiting for the hit that, happily, never came. - I knew when you asked "please". 

-Oh. And...?

-It's fine, I think. - it was not, he was taking a lot of risks because of a fugitive that he didn't knew, but he liked to take control of everything and pretend everything was okay only to see people happy. 

-No, it's not. I'll leave as soon as I can move better so I can run to a safe place, I swear. - he got in his knees in front of the Doctor, with his hands on a praying position. 

-It's okay, it's fine, Mr...?

-Holmes. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, if my full name is your interest. 

-Well, Mr. Holmes, we'll find a way. - Watson gave him a smile. - But to the fact that my pajamas look extremely short on your body and that your hair dries really quickly, I fear there are no solutions.


	3. Zwei

Dr. John H. Watson couldn't sleep while he could still listen to Mr. Holmes shaking because of the cold. He got him a mattress and let him sleep on the floor of his room, but Holmes still had his body gelid from the two hours before. Watson feared for his life and for his own life, because if one of the armed soldiers decided to check the houses during the dawn, both of them would be dead by the morning time. But, even with all that could happen, he couldn't keep himself from feeling acquainted with Holmes, a lost, scared man, with his defined face dried out because of the loss of hydration and the curly hair as an infinite mess that, for some reason, went well with his very green eyes. 

During the morning, Watson realized Holmes's eyes wee more blue than green when in contact with the daylight. The snow was still falling violently in the window. Watson was raising the red flag, covering the fact that he kept in his house one of the people who represented the people that flag most hated.

Holmes was steady in front of him, with his hands showing the perfectly folded up pajamas. He wore the same clothes as the day before, still wet and kneaded. 

-I have to go now. - he said. Watson noticed how rough and musical his voice was. He stopped talking to cough. 

-You can't. - Watson replied, simply. 

-I can, I'll find a way to walk in the streets with I being noticed. - he smiled, which was also rare in there, and extended his hand. 

Watson also extended his own hand at the same time, shaking the other's. As soon as they stopped, Watson felt the palm of his hand wet and, when he turned it around, noticed it was blood. He held Holmes's hand and saw the same. 

-Oh, this happens all the time, you don't have to worry. - the curly haired guy spoke, tying to feel calm. He used the sink to clean his own hands. 

For some reason, Watson remembered the image of his dad cleaning his own bloody hands when he came to visit last year. He was even more blonde and angry. Watson didn't knew his dad's position in the Hitler army, but he knew he had forgotten all humanity as quickly as someone forgets the name of an unknown.

-You are staying, I'm taking care of this for you. Sit back there and stay quiet as I bring my stuff. - Watson pointed at the chair in the kitchen, where Holmes sat down immediately.

The doctor handed him medication, even with extreme doubts about how it would work. Holmes coughed again, thanking him. 

-I need to work, can't miss it. - continued, taking two coats from his chair and looking for his keys. - Stay here, please. I'll be back soon, I swear, but I don't want you to take risks leaving this house. 

-They would only kill me now if it was the forbidden hours. 

-No. They would kill you right now, it's their profession. Killing is the job, Mr. Holmes!

Mr. Holmes nodded with his head and agreed with staying at the house for six hours before Dr. Watson came back and sit in his own chair. Holmes sat down in the other chair, making the older one shake. 

-Am I being inconvenient? I can sit somewhere else, I forgot about the fact that I am a guest.

-No, it's good. - the doctor smiled, remembering his sister. - You, sir, know you are sick, right? I have a patient that also... You know, has blood on his cough. He is was better now, I'll visit him today. 

-Today? - Holmes asked, looking through the window and watching the slightly dark sky forming itself. It made him wonder where they were.

-I visit patients that don't have the money to afford treatment. - Watson got up, taking two mugs and tea. Holmes took one of the mugs. - I don't know what time I'm coming back, is it going to be okay?

-Can I go with you, sir? I can take care.

-No, please. It doesn't matter how long I'm staying out, I',m not taking you to my job. - Watson was convincing. He got up again, wearing his second coat.

As soon as he left the house, he went to the other side of the street and knocked on the door of Mrs. Herm. Before, she had conditions to pay for her Alzheimer's treatment, but, with time, she didn't remember where she used to hide her money. She opened the door, walking on her wheelchair and smilingly she saw him. Watson leg her touch his blonde hair and kiss his face. 

-Hans! - she said, it was the only word she spoke by now. 

-It's John, Mrs. Herm. 

Watson liked the thin old lady, she reminded him of his grandmother, a sweet person with a lot of stories to tell. Unfortunately, Mrs. Herm didn't knew her story anymore. 

He came back late. He was so involved in one his patients' story he forgot that he left Holmes all alone. He didn't want to sound mean, but he barely knew him.

As soon as he stepped in the room, he noticed something was different. The floor was smelling very good. 

-Holmes? - he screamed my going into his own room. He found him laying in the matters, beside of a perfectly made bed.

-I'm awake. - he said, with his eyes still closed. - I cleaned the house, hope you don't mind.

-Oh! Thank you?

There was an awkward moment of silence while Watson put his pajamas on the bathroom and sat on his beautiful bed.

-Tell me your story, Holmes.

The man got scared at the request.

-Are you serious!?

-Well, this came off without meaning, but I really want to know. Tell me your favorite color, your wishes, how your childhood was.

-My childhood?

Watson nodded, smiling without showing his white teeth. 

-Well. I was born in January of 1922. My parents lived with me until... Well, last week. I have an older brother named Mycroft and we get along incredibly well.

"I was a quiet child. Since I was 4, I spent my child days on a park founded by the neighbors. They loved us and invited us to all of the family dinners. I always saw them trying to make me and their child, Adeline, get together."

"I slept in the same bedroom as Mycroft, painted in a really beautiful red, my choice. When I turned 10, Myc said we needed a new hobby. Him, at that time with his 16 years of age, started reading about he power of deduction for crime resolutions. I started noticing every men's hands and tried to discover things about them based on that."

"I got exausted, of course, because I was a 10 year old who spent most of my time reading and investigating people. But, even with that, I was always in love with humanity in a very person way. The most interesting person in the world was always my mom. I loved her how I will never love any other woman."

"Her blonde hair and deep dark circles under her eyes made me so interested that I stopped going out with my friends just so I could spend more time looking at her. My dream was to be just like her when I grew up. She used to call me her favorite son, but I doubt she could choose."

"And then daddy died, that's where my childhood ends. I spent my years decorating my room and taking care of my family."

-I'm deeply sorry.

-Don't be, it's been a lot of time. I was an extremely happy child, don't worry about me. - Holmes concluded. - Have a good night, Doctor.

When Holmes fell asleep, Watson thought he wouldn't let him go to the streets. He would keep him close.

He just didn't knew if it was because of goodness or loneliness.


	4. Drei

-John, honey. - the woman's voice was shaking in a creepy way, her face muscles shaking while she said every world. The little boy could see the tears almost falling off her eyes. Mommy grabbed him by the arm and pushed him into a hug. - I need you to go to your room and pretend you are asleep. Take Harry with you, take her.

John grabbed his little soster, putting her on his lap and taking her to his room. Harry was just some years younger, but still almost had her brother's height,him being the smallest guy in his classroom.

He locked the room and got under the blankets, feeling a cold that wasn't exactly becauseof the weather, but because of his father that slowly got closer.

He heard the steps in the living room coming closer every second. His dad was furious, and John knew that. The sister tried to calm him down telling him that 'at least he was not screaming', but John knew that the silence would be almost letal to whoever showed in the father's way.

-Please, the kids are sleeping. - Mommy spoke, with a quiet, terrified voice. John's dad was impatient when it was about his family. He didn't wanted to be there and made it very clear.

-Of course they are. - he, ironically, said. - That never stopped me from doing anything. You know that, don't you?

John couldn't see, buthe knew his mom was agreeing fast with everything, trying to prevent her husband's anger of popping out. She always did that. Always defending herself without actually doing it. Always. 

The first punch came with a high noise. Harry desperately moved closer to her brother's body. The boy couldn't cry, wouldn't cry. He would never show himself as weak to his sister.

The second punch also came.

And the third.

The fourth.

When the fifth's noise came out, the small John Watson was found holding his father's neck, with the lack of strenght he had. The mom was in the other side of the room, unconscious. 

The sixth punch wasn't in his mother.

Holmes gave up on waking the man up. He was punching his arm when he finally realized it was such a deep sleep he wouldn't be interrupted.

The young man dressed up in a white shirt, social pants and red suspenders, leaving the flat with fear. It was past six in the morning, so he could walk on the streets, but only with a lot of fear.

The neighbors started asking themselves, he knew they were watching him. He never walked at that neighborhood since he moved into the humble house of a certain hapless doctor,so he understood why people talked about him.

Sherlock Holmes knew that what gave him more weight was the big yellow star hanging on his arm, even if it was only some fabric. How much that star meant was as breathtaking as the effect it caused around the people that didn't have to use it.

The point is: jews were not allowed to walk in parks, open areas, theaters or any type of places that could give them some fun. No on in that country wanted them near, those big nosed, dirty men that stole their money. No one wanted them to feel confortable. Everyone only wished they would be treated as animals. 

The only thing they still had was the cemetery. 

In that cemetery that luckly was very close to John's house, the poor jew children used to play. They would run and jump around the tombstones of those who were the last ones to have their names somewhere after death. The children had no idea of what it all meant.

But Holmes had it. And that was why he entered the great door with some flowers in his hands.

He found the tomstone he was looking for.

J S M O RIA TY

He broke in tears. That was his favorite place. He couldn't avoid the sadness as he saw the letters all broken up. Those letters were the only ones - besides Sherlock's heart - that still remembered him.

The unparalleled, that one that made Sherlock carry a huge weight in his back.

He made Holmes realize the government hated him. And it was not because he was jew.

Holmes gave him the flowers, that surely were from a man who was left disappointed with the love of his life, a rude, rich woman, by how tight the package that had the flowers was, sooner, held.

-Hello. - Holmes said. - I said I would come back. I hope everything is great, wherever you are. I... Well, I'm great. I took a bath this morning, can you believe it? Everything is going to be good, but I can't prevent something.

He made an almost dramatic pause so he could clean out the tears that were in his eyes.

-I will be with you very soon.

Holmes got up, touching the tombstone in a lovely way and going home. He, again, entered the flat, finding Dr. Watson almost clearly having a heart attack.

-For God's sake, Holmes,where have you been?

The curly haired smiled, calming him a little. Dr. Watson felt something in his heart as soon as he smiled.

-I was in the sky, sir.


	5. Vier

Dr. Watson was worried. He was worried about the color his eyes were getting and the weird shine on the look of the one man that got away for a few hours. John expected that, as he was the person that got him a home, he would be a little more faithful to the rules, because there was only one: "DO NOT LEAVE THE HOUSE".

Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a unconcerned man, had that kind of posture that showed dirctly that everuthing was going to be just fine, even if it wasn't. Watson knew it wasn't. The curls were, in the minimal, what got attention. They were so young and full of life for a young man that feared death that the doctor started facing everything as a sweet, cruel methafor. Everything.

Since the eyes changing color, since the nose, the defined lips and how tall he was. Sherlock Holmes was a miracle and John Watson didn't knew how he felt about it.

-I need to visit an old friend. - Watson announced, when things finally calmed down. His sheltered was sitting on the same chair he always was sat (in John's imagination, there was always someone there.) and was taking a glass of hot tea with some cookies made by the doctor. - Lestrade would be charmed in receiving you too, we could say you are family or something... You decide it, but I would like if you could come.

-Yes, you would. - Holmes guaranteed, with the same closed smile as always.

-What do you mean, sir?

Holmes got up, looking at the clothes Watson was wearing.

-You are wearing a new suit, with fine fabric. I would never see you wearing something like that if it wasn't special. 

-It is special, I haven't seen Lestrade in a few years and I am excited to tell him about all of my achievements.

-No, it's not this. You are not all dressed up, with your hair all tidy even if you're wearing a hat and the mustache trimmed only to see a friend. You are trying to impress him, and by the patern, you need to pretend you have a life you don't actually do, that's why I think you gratuated with him and now he is a big doctor and you still live in a tiny house, keeping two jobs. You are not big friends, you pretend to like each other just so you can prove your superiority to each other. 

Watson had his mouth opened, looking at Holmes' mouth, that didn't stop moving, like if he was made to dictate John Watson's life withou pauses.

-And there is more! - he announced, - He is not a good man, he doesn't seem like one. He must be someone who would be scared at my physical situations, as you, sir, would like to treat me as family and not as a friend. You don't trust him not even for a second, since he would have a bad reaction when you say you have a jew in your house. Maybe it's a little dangerous, what made me discover exactly what is the doctor's job.

-I'm sorry?

-He is a doctor, that we know. You confirmed this as soon as you couldn't close your mouth at what I said, now I wonder what type of doctor he is. One like you, sir, who works for pure love and helps the poor? No, because he gains a lot more and this is impossible. I assume then that this man to whom you referer to must be a nazi doctor, or at least one that works with the victims.

-God, Holmes!- Watson started, scared for life. - How could you possibly know that?

-It is all in your eyes, doctor.

Watson smiled, raising himself and taking his hat, while Holmes helped him with his coat. 

-So, I'll go.

-Wait for me, I would love to meet that creature. He must have a beard and those big mansios with the red flags all over it.

Holmes dressed himself and took a funny little hat out his coat pocket.

-Now what is that?

-A deerstalker. - Holmes cleared it out. - You know, it's used for hunting or big travels or, how can I say it? Pure fashion.

-I know what a deerstalker is. I'm wondering where you took it off. - Watson spoke, giving more space so the tall man could pass.

-Let's say it was a gift from someone special from the past. It's been hidden in my coat since the day I arrived.

They walked carefully on the streets, looking at the sides and taking care so no one would doubt that Sherlock was arian. No one could see the dark, black hair that were hidden under the hat, so his eyes were assurance that he had a certain faith.

They arrived at Lestrade's home after some time of walking, with a lot of silly talking and laughs. The man lived in a separated part of the city, without any neighboors. That way, he didn't need to hide in the shadows.

-Watson! Welcome. - the man didn't seem at all as what Holmes thought he would seem. He had short white hair, but no bear or a great house. Everything was simple, but very, VERY, expensive. - I see you came with a friend.

-Oh, yes. Mr. Lestrade, this is my loyal friend, Mr. Holmes. - the man's words scared the curly haired, who waited something else. 

They spent a lovely afternoon with ambicious talks and lies. Lestrade was not at all as rich as he claimed he was and Holmes knew that very well.

He knew as well that the man knew Holmes was not a friend of Watson.

They arrived at home very late, both of them took a bath and while Holmes dressed himself, Watson got his attention. 

-Sir, I don't feel very tired. Would you like to tell me about your youth, now?

-Oh, yes, I almost forgot about those stories. - Holmes said and, once they were both on their beds, he started telling: - My brother, Mycroft, worked in a good place when I became a teenager. I was an awfull young man, to be real, no one ever liked me. I likedto pretend I was a sociopath, taht I didn't had feelings and that not caring was a good thing, but soon in my 15 years of age, I fell deeply in love.

"That person was amazing, with dark eyesand hair and a sweet look, a voice so rough and convincing... My "sociopath" part left a soon as I saw... her."

"We spent long years together, I am proud to say I loved her so deeply it would be impossible for me to get deeped into this story without crying."

"Jam...ie was my light, but they took her too soon and I am so sorry about that,everyday of my life."

-How did they took her?

-She was a jew, soon as the war started, when they still burried the bodies.

-Holmes.

-Yes, Watson?

He stared deeply into the other's eyes.

-I am very sorry about your loss, but I want you to know that I pretty much know you are not talking about a woman.


	6. Fünf

That day's conversation had ended with a bright smile and a "it is what it is" emotionally said by Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Happily, Holmes was a man that could deduse a lot of things, but Watson was a man with vision. He knew it since the moment the guy stepped into his house that he wasn't there just because he was a jew, but because he was a heavier case.

The thing was that homosexuals weren't just sent to any concentration spaces. They were sent to the same as the jew, only separated from the 'retarted' and antisocials. Now, being a jew and a homosexual was something very complicated, since it was wrong for the government and for his own faith. Sherlock Holmes had no way out and no chance of running away, only in the warm home of John Watson, a young german doctor, he found his refuge.

-Watson? - he asked, in one of those nights where the doctor decided not to go to work too early and they could sit in front of the fire and eat warm food.

-Yes, Holmes.

-Have you ever been in love?

The smile that John Watson always had, even when things were complicated, soon disappeared. Now, he was the shadow of the man he once was, a rest.

-Yes. I did, and a lot.

-If you loved someone that much, why are you so sad? Isn't love amazing and revolutionary?

-We all think love is wonderful until we are abandoned, Mr. Holmes. - he said simply, serving a little more tea to his companion.

Holmes wasthere for a few weeks and Watson, as a good lonely man, couldn't even imagine his own nights of sleep without the tall man lying on the floor right beside him.

Watson always was someone that got used to thing very quickly and now he used to match is breathing to the friend's, without falling asleep if something was different. But, before that, Watson got used to another breathing: his wife's, the woman he loved, the woman that slept with him every night, Mary Watson.

-Mary... Mary was my first love and the most intense. She was a blonde, short haired woman with gentle eyes. We lived good years together, right here, in this house. That empty side of the bed was once from a very strong woman.

-And why is this side empty?

-My dear Holmes, not everything lasts. - he cleared it up again, getting up. - After 4 long years in the most pure happiness, she decided I wasn't good enough. She left with a bag full of letters, a sad smile and our daughter.

-You have a daughter? - Holmes asked, charmed and Watson smiled, reminding of the girl's face. - What is her name?

-Rosamund. Mary chose it. She is some months old.

-Is that what you think about every night when you think I am asleep?

-Sorry?

-I hear you, sir, getting up and going to your desk. I always see you drawing. Do you draw her? At least your vision of her?

-I don't know how she looks today. I don't think she looks like me, but I like to imagine her as a better, prettier version of myself.

-I am sure she is as beautiful as... - Holmes didn't dare finishing it. "As you, sir" didn't feel right to say.

-As?

-As your ex wife must be, of course. She must be very pretty.

-Yes, she is.

-Everything will be alright someday, Watson. Our first love hardly is the true one, that's what I believe in.

-That thought make you look like a sullen person, Holmes. Our first love is always the most intense.

Holmes nodded, agreeing with the idea Watson has. He coughed some times.

-And that is why it always ends, too, in a certain way. There are some that don't, of course, but usually it ends up quickly by the fact that intensity overcomes morality and the people involved rarely see something that isn't the feeling that fills them up. It is good to try something new before saying something as powerful as "he was my only love".

-Sometimes I think you are not really human, sir. Your thoughts are so advanced.

Holmes smiled, thanking him just with his head. Holmes liked to be admired by his intelectual as much as anyone thought women liked to be admired by their looks. 

-Do you think you will love someone again, Holmes? - Watson continued.

-I do, I am sure. I am a man of mind,but everything I say and do is totally based on what I feel, I hope you, sir, like this idea. I am who I am today because of who I was before and after I loved Jam...es.

-James. - Watson said again, smiling.

And with that, it came.

The bang.

The warning.

The despair.

The bombs in the city.


	7. Sechs

The first bomb was more about shock than fear. Dr. John Watson breathed heavily before actually noticing his city was being bombed and, if they didn't move fast, he would be dead and no one would be able to find his body in all fo those ashes.

He first carried Holmes, that didn't really get what was happening. He got him by his pulse and tried to push him so he would know. After this, he asked for help to take clothes and food, in case his neighboorhood was bombed and nothing was left over.

Holmes refused one, two times before Watson convinced him to go with him. The great question was that the underground shelter was exclusive to "good" germans. Sherlock feared that one of them would see him as a jew and kill him right there.

They ran in the dark streets - wrist with wrist, breathing with breathing - until they got into the shelter's door, that had a huge access ramp until the shelter John Watson already went to a few times. Holmes was too scared about the situation and the people.

He gave his spot to the little children and the older ones. Some pregnant woman arrived, and Holmes made what was possible and impossible for them to have a place to sit. Watson stared at him for some time, only stopping when he noticed the smile that his face was forming. An elder guy stared at him and grunted. 

How could he? 

Did he really think the doctor was...?

Just becaus eof an admiration smile?

-Listen, Watson! - Sherlock screamed one more time, catching the older one's attention. He moved his curly hair and got closer from his companion. - There is a lady here that says she knows you.

John looked at the sides, but everyone seemed the same person.

-Mrs. Herm? - he screamed, when he found the old lady's sweet look.

She was on the ground, but still had the same look on her face that said she didn't knew what was happening. Even Watson had that same look now, and that worried the young man that stand right on his side, with his eyes wide open.

The bombs were still outside, and the screaming inside of the shelter made Watson's head hurt even more. He didn't mean any bad, but really couldn't stand the euphoria and all of that situation. It was too much for a young doctor in only one night, having to conform with a small, cold shelter, watching people dying little by little, agonyzing with the feeling that they were being watched 24 hours per day.

He thought it would be a priviledge to be just as Mrs. Herm and simply never remember what is happening, because he wouldn't like to remeber this agony as an older man. Those were one of the few situations he could say he would preffer to be dead.

Watson, when he realized that nothing would work at that moment, warned Holmes he would look for a calmer place to lay down and have a bit of rest. By that corner, where he was all alone, he could see Holmes and all of the attentiveness and empathy he had for other people. He was shaking, with his skin almost blue because of how cold he was, but he insisted on continuing helping the other. Watson sworehe could hear him singing a childish song.

After two hours of negative thoughts and a desire to have been born in another place or another time when the young man got closer. He was dirty, had difficulties breathing and was almost purple. He let his thin body slip on the wall and laid down right in the doctor's side, who was already asleep.

Neither Holmes or Watson realized, but their bodies united to each other in an extremely unique form as soon as one felt the other's smell. They belonged to each other in a friendly, complicated way, and that was the thing about having a roomate: they got used to sleep in the presence of another person.

Holmes was the first one to wake up, realizing how close they were and gently departing them. Even with the shock would not make him wake up his copanion's sleep, even if they payed him some millions.

Some children got closer and, as soon as they saw Holmes, they let go a small scream, which was enough to wake up Watson. He shaked and opened and closed his eyes a few times until he realized where he was. When he finally got used to it, he saw Holmes' figure wearing his coat while telling a story to the children.

-You know what, babies, it is incredible how much humans can get their feelings confused, and I don't know if I should be telling you this, but hate sometimes turns into love. It can take a lot of time, it can cost people's lives, but one day everything will get better. - he said, with a confused look on his face. Watson understood he was not the most confortable around children, but he looked adorable with a blonde girl on his lap.

-Sher... Sherlock? Have you seen Mrs. Herm? How is she?

-Oh, yes.I am sorry, childre, but I have to talk to this little man that just woke up, ok? - Holmes spoke, with a childish, sweet voice. - She is just fine, but she insists you, doctor, have another name.

-Oh, yes, Holmes. She has the custom of calling me Hans.

Holmes took Watson's jacket off of himself, throwing it in a corner and thanking even if he never asked for it. He got up and offered his hand as support so the other could get up as well. Watson took his hand and got impulse.

-Tell me, Watson, when are you going to realize your grandfather was someday in love with this lady that sees you with so much affection? 

-Sorry?

Watson started realizing he couldn't explain how Sherlock did it, but he would admire him with all of his heart.

Their house was not reached by the bombs, because the damn nazis liked to play with people, but John Watson's heart felt like a bomb.


	8. Sieben

-Doctor Watson? - Holmes screamed, in one of the days he used to clean the house. The door had been opened and the curly haired didn't knew Watson was going to be at home so early on a wednesday.

He didn't really get a reply, so he finished folding the doctor's blankets, while he smoothed the apron his companion gave him for that exact same of the week. It was very common that the doctor would work a little more on wednesdays and Holmes liked doing the cleaning during this time.

The noises didn't stop and multiplied. Holmes wasn't very brave to go to the living room to see if it was a candy seller old lady or a monster - in other words, a nazi.

The two steps turned into four, almost coordenated. The terror hit him quickly and he tried taking of the apron before opening the bedroom's door (they always kept it closed, for some reason Holmes didn't really get but never complained) and go into the noise. He got closer very slowly, fearing what he would find.

-John? - the feminine voice asked. Holmes knew exactly what was happening and, in a certain way, didn't knew if he liked it.

The woman, blonde with beautiful blue eyes, stopped smiling as soon as she saw it was another man.

-Hello? What can I do for you? - Holmes asked, with a homy, gentle tone, even if he felt like it shouldn't be like that.

-I am Mary Watson. - the woman announced, as if he didn't already knew. She extended her hand to the man, a very small hand.

-Sherlock Holmes. - he smiled and shaked her hand.

She smiled ironically and put the baby on her hands.

-Look, I knew this would happen. I always knew, I was sure, but I choose to deny it would come so quickly and...

-Mary? - the so known voice screamed at the door. - For God's sake, this is the first time I thank myself for the neighboors I have. Mrs. Hudson downstairs warned me about you coming here and I came home as soon as I could.

-John! - she smiled, with the little girl sleeping in her lap; - Can you help me with my clothes? I've been busyall of this time with Rosamund and only now I could come back.

-Are you okay, Holmes? - Watson asked, making Holmes smile as a yes. - Rosamund is very big.

-Yes. And she looks a lot like you. That's why I came back, Rosamund deserves a dad! And, if I didn't came back, I would have to cross the country on a ship and Rosie would hate me. My parents are moving somewhere else, somewhere where they can live in peace.

-Then go with them. - Watson screamed. - This is not your house anymore, Mary, thisis the house I live in with Mr. Holmes, our home.

-I could not be this brave. I really want to live with my parents, but poor Rosie... Do you really think she would survive the whole trip? I never traveled with her, she was never in a ship before and I am sure there will be no enough food or safety for me to keep her alive and healthy.

-Mary, you will not live with me again. How can you try to mess up my whole life again? You decided to leave, I got better without your help, so I don't want you to try to come back. It was your choice and I preffer you keep it this way until your very last breath.

Mary got a face deformed by the sadness so Watson would accept her and Holmes realized it wasn't about remorse, but a need. He knew Mary thought she wouldn't survive the trip and was trying to get rid of her.

-John... - she whimpered. 

-For you, it's Mr. Watson, and you are not staying in my house.

-But the child is. - Holmes announced, in a clear tone. - I am sure this trip is a choice as it was to abandon Watson when he most needed your help. I can get you a really good ship, you lady will not be in risk, but not for a minute I want you to think you will take this little girl as an excuse to get a home in another country. You will leave her with people that can learn how to love her while you enjoy your own life anywhere else.

-Enjoy? Holmes, do you really want me to let my own child in our house so her mother can have her own plans in another place? This is not human. - Watson screamed, grabbing the companion's arm and squeezing it with a certain strenght.

-What is not human is that you want to keep Rosamund in a home full of people who don't actually care about her existence. I can take care of her while you work and keep her safe at night. You, sir, can share your bed with her and everything will be just fine. - Holmes said, with the sweet voice of someone who had lull as their allied and tears on his eyes by the pain he felt. - And, if you allow me, you are hurting me.

Mary cried for hours and hours sitting on a chair, thinking about the possibility of abandoning her own child. Holmes convinced her as soon as he guaranteed she was not abandoning her, but only getting her a better future.

He had his curly hair wet by the bath he took after fighting with Watson and calming Mary down.

She admited, as soon as she was leaving, that Rosamund would be safer with her dadand the young man than in a new country, where she would have to work day and night to get them a house.

Days after this, she appeared on their room with a small bag of clothes, food, and a diary about the child's personality. Rosamund was bright and almost hopeful (if she was not a child) while she layed down on her mother's lap. John grabbed her and smiled, thanking Mary and forgetting all the hate he had for her to wish her good luck in the new journey. 

Now they were three, and Holmes tried to avoid thinking about the dreams he had about it when he was a teenager. 

Rosamund was a space on his brain that was now filled with blue eyes.


	9. Acht

1943.

-Rosamund? Rosie... - Mr. Holmes didn't even had his eyes opened when he realized the baby didn't had a meal in a few hours and Mr. Watson, the girl's daddy, had such a heavy sleep he couldn't hear the baby crying. - Hello, baby, are you hungry?

The child opened her eyes, identical as his companion's, and cried one last time before Holmes put his big hands behind her small arms and took he rin his lap, fitting her around his waist, incredibly defined. Rosie let her blonde curls on Holmes' neck when she layed down on his shoulder, still a little tired and lazy.

-What would be this smell, Rosie, huh? - Holmes whispered, smiling to the lovly little girl that didn't understand anything he was saying. - Someone made a little dirt during the night? It's okay, uncle Sherlock can take care of this for you.

-Uncle Sherlock? - he heard his companion's voice as soon as he turned to the wardrobe, where he got a fabric diaper and a small piece of fabric with water.

-Yes, she liked when I speak like that. - he awnsered, laying hte kid down in the desk John had and taking her dirty clothes off as well as her dirty diaper. - Will you help me with this, doctor?

-Let me get up first, Holmes, or I will wrap a diaper around your head. - Watson replied, while getting up slowly from the bed he shared with his daughter in the days she accepted to sleep anywhere that was not near Holmes.

-I would very much love to see this happening. - Holmes laughed. - Could you get the potato soup for me? And, please, buy us milk, it is your day.

-Why do you keep me as a slave? This is still my house. 

-Stop complaining and do as I tell you. - he ironically screamed. When he baby was clean, he messed her blonde hair as he did with his dad when he was sick or depressed. - Now, Rosie, say bye bye to your dad.

-She doesn't know how to speak, Holmes.

-She will learn. And I will be the one to teach her.

-You want my daughter to learn to speak things such as "uncle Sherlock" before she learns how to say "dad", isn't it?

Holmes smiled, caressing the child's cheek.

-She will learn what she wantsto, you grumpy guy. Now, I really need you to buy the milk, I am starving.

Watson nodded, taking his coat and leaivng by the door, not before opening it again and smiling while he saw the companion with his daughter on his lap while he sang a kid's song.

-Hang the flag. - he said, staring into the curly haired with a serious look he never once showed.

-Do you want me to do it? - he asked, while he let Rosie push his own hair. The doctor said yes and raised an eyebrow, trying to understand if the companion would actually feel confortable doing this. - It's okay, just buy the milk. And candy. Oh, and I need something for my hair.

-I am not your housekeeper.

-Yet.

They both laughed, what made the small Rosie join then and Holmes realize her laugh was just like her dad's.

Watson was not at home, Holmes took the gigantic flag in a dark tone of red, while keeping Rosie on his lap with only one hand.

When he hung the flag, he felt soething inside of him dying. It made him feel bad to imagine himself as being a part of this, colaborating with people that shared hate by their own people. He still did not understand what was on their minds, the people who supported those actions and thought they were normal and correct, but he didn't blame Watson for hanging the flag everyday, as he didn't get a chance to do anything else. He could go agaisnt his principles or die.

And, as another one of his amazing deductions, he knew Watson feared the nazis.

He knew that very well.

Rosie moved on his lap one more time before opening her little light eyes.

-I uderstand, my little girl, I am also worried with your dad. It's going to be okay, I promise.

Watson came back a few minutes after this, with milk and a new cap for Rosie.

They spent the whole afternoon sitting on their chairs, looking at the fire and eating soup with Rosie, who messed up Holmes' clothes with the liquid. Watson smiled everytime the small kid tried to communicate with the tall young boy, that replied her incomprehensible questions with a childish voice.

-Holmes?

-Yes, doctor? 

Rosie screamed when she hit Holmes' hai with the soup, but he didn't complain.

-I... I need to tak with you about a certain topic. - Watson started, Holmes knew what it wasabout because the young doctor was emotional. - You know... You probably know, I know you already noticed.

-Doctor Watson, if you allow me, I know what you are going to say and you, sir, know I face it with such a naturality because it is also my situation. - Holmes smiled for a while before he got up. - I see you,sir, staring at young men in the streets when we go out, and it's completely fine.

-If you know I am attracted to both genders, you must have realized I have a bit of an... Am=dmiration for you, sir. A lot, because of how you take care of our little girl and make me feel like it is something very natural and beautiful. 

Holmes smiled and got closer. He got on his knees right in front on the doctor that he saw as one of the most inteligent, kind and beautiful men he ever met.

-It's okay, John. 

-Since when do you call me John?

-You would be surprised.

John, after some minutes of silence, made their lips touch each othe, just so he could ahve that same feeling he had with women and confirm he felt even better.

-Sherlock, I am so sorry I did this. - John started after hving no breath even if the kiss was about two sencongs long. That meant something so pure for him, it meant he could actually be loved.

Rosie was on the floor, smiling as if she knew revolution was staring on her own house.


	10. Neun

Rosie had the weird habit of becoming very bored easly, and that started to annoy John. He tried everything, since going to parks with her and making family fun stuff or maybe letting her only with Sherlock so she could tie his beautiful hair.

But, in that very dark morning, he just wanted a small moment with his companion. A moment before it all turned upside down, as he knew it would, even if the war ended up early and no one ever found out about the both of them and what they did when they were alone in a room. And he was not talking about the dance classes he liked giving Sherlock.

He let Rosie with Mrs. Hudson. She, surely, knew about Sherlock and John's situation, and she adored them. Rosie loved her, but she couldn't stay long in someone's house if John wasn't with her.

Sherlock was happy. He was extremely happy. He couldn't keep himself from smiling while he walked in the dark streets, hoping no one would notice him. He had no idea where they were going that day, but he trusted the doctor's good taste so much he knew it would be so easly breathtaking as doctor's daily presence in his life was. Sherlock was a sensible and deeply - deeply in love.

John was quite nervous about the younger's reaction about his surprise, but he knew that beautiful young man was too sweet to simply demonstrate he was not enjoying things. For him, everything was just good, and that was all John had to offer.

For that moment.

Sherlock got kind of scared when he saw the place he was. And the clothes he would have to wear.

-Are you good? - John asked, holding the companion's wrist. - I didn't knew if you would like to be on a lake today, but it's the most quiet place I could find. No one comes here.

-Did you bring us bathing clothes? - Sherlock asked, too worried to concentrate in the ammount of beauty there was right in front of him. His lips were completely closed and the eyes were in a thin line.

-Well, no. - John said, laughing, not loud. - We are all alone, no one will see you.

Sherlock, before he could even have any negative reaction, already saw his companion taking his shirt and pants and jumping into the lake while laughing hard.

He smiled, watching the freedom they both had for some small moments in that local, at that time. He was covered by lots of coats that were thrown into a corner as well as his fear of being who he was.

-Jump, Sherly! You will not feel the cold if you jump! - John screamed, waving his arms around his own body.

Sherlock smiled, with those crooked and tiny teeth that made John feel bigger, even if he was clearly shorter. And smaller. Everywhere.

-I hate you for making me face this cold water, doctor Wtson. - Sherlock said while he jumped and gotsmaller right in the middle of the lake. John got closer and, for the first time after all that happend, he held his companion from the behind, as he felt safe enough to demonstrate how much he liked him. - Now I don't hate you.

They both laughed while Sherlock turned and got in front of John just to leave a small kiss on his forehead. 

-You are adorable. I am missing my job to be by your side and I don't regret at all.

-John?

-Uhm?

-Do you want me to kiss you now?

John smiled and said yes.

Their lips touched one more time as if they were never apart at all, during all of those years they were apart from their true feelings, which made them feel alive in the middle of the darkness.

Sherlock felt home when he was sitting on his lap. He was very thin, and, inside the water, he felt even thiner. He felt weightless, body and soul. 

-God, I thank every day for this.

-Do you think Rosie is okay? - Sherlock asked, while his head was on John's chest, right in the borderof the lake, when the doctor was running his nails along the curly brown hair that occupated his whole head.

-Yes. Don't worry that much, she has a very gracious dad.

-I agree, you are a wonderful parent.

-I wasn't talking about me.

Sherlock smied, more than ever. Because now, in that same moemnt, he felt like he was part of something beautiful. Something that would change someone's life forever.

And that someone was Rosie.

-I want you.

-You want me? - John asked, confused. - Oh, you want me.

-Yes, John.

And both of them smiled, because everything on them was pure color, all that they ever dreamed.

At that night, John didn't feel lonely or confused when he felt himself inside Sherlock, with the younger whispering his name.

They were one.

John was Sherlock and Sherlock was John.

In the next day, when Sherlock took too long to catch Rosie and had to make an excuse to Mrs. Hudson, he found John sitting on his chair with a piece of paper.

He had no tears on his eyes, but it all feltlike he was just about to explode.

-What happend, darling? - Sherlock said, putting Rosie on the ground so she could walk.

-Harry.

-What is wrong with Harry? What happend?

-She is dead.


	11. Zehn

-Dead!? - Sherlock repeated, leaving all of his panic and doubt about where Harriet was just fade away, but not in a way that could make it until John and hurt him even more.

-Dead, Sherlock. - John screamed, leaving a long, painful sob, that appeared to cut his companion in half and right after this cut him into small pieces. - My little sister is dead.

Sherlock sat on his chair, while John got up, with his hands covering his face that now had a red tone from all of the anger and sadness he felt knowing how his sister died.

-I can't believe this. Not this, Sherly. - he screamed, one more time, while his chest moved quickly. - God, I hate that man.

-Hitler?

-My dad.

Sherlock wide-eyed. He already heard about stories about John's father, both of them used to talk when they were bored and Rosie was asleep. but Sherlock couldn't imagine John's dad was really that monster. Sherlock believed that, as beauty, hate depends on childhood models and self oppinions. now, he knew with much pain that the hate John felt for his own father was because he was his actual hate model.

Everything he knew was that John's dad now commanded a concentration camp for homosexuals and jews. Harry was a lesbian.

And, if everything went as Sherlock's head was just imagining, soon Watson would realize his daughter was not the only one in that family.

John now had his hands holding his face, covering the eyes that had uncontrolable tears that moved in his cheeks quickly. The young man couldn't see John crying, simply by the fact that the pain his companion felt hit him deep inside his own heart, now that both of them were connected in such an intense way they couldn't live apart.

And Sherlock just got up. He got up even knowing that someone knocked madly on their door. He got up even knowing that the person that was trying to break into the house was John's father, as obvious. He got up, and held him. A hug that was more painful than lovely, but honest in a way that hardly anyone would be able to describe. Sherlock let his hand on John's head while the other one passed by his arm, his chin laying right on the top of his head.

-It is what it is, John. - he said, and at that point they knew someone was watching them, but none of them actually cared. That moment was more important than the angry, blonde hair steady in front of a destroyed door, destroyed as his son's heart while he cried his sister's tragic death.

Dad cleared out his throat, making John wake up from his dream that was to be on Sherlock's arms one more time before they would be gone.

-John.

-Father.

Both stared at each other and John denied to shake his hand.

-How are you? - the father asked naturally, making what he always did when he came to visit: wash his hands. John always felt offended, knowinh now that while he washed his hands, he washed his soul from murdering his own daughter.

-Don't ask me how I am. You know what is happening and you are not very welcome in my home. - John didn't have the courage to scream or punch the man, he was completely destroyed. -You are a goddamn monster, since I was born I think like that. You are a monster and every day I thank my good God that I don't have any of your personality mixed with the blood that runs in my veins.

It was painful to Sherlock to watch it. Watch John having difficulties on actually breathing, getting lost on his tears and holding himself on the table so he wouldn't fall out. He felt a piece of himself tearing itself with the falling of the tears the man he loved was crying.

Because, yes, he loved him. He loved him deeply, as he never thought he would love again. He loved the way John took care of his patients, even if Mrs. Herm was not around anymore. He loved how he smiled and whispered his name on their intimate times. He loved how he took care of their daughter and how he saw a lot of him on the little girl. And seeing him sad made Sherlock half a man.

-Listen to me, John. Harry was a desease, I couldn't just let that happen.

-That? Are you talking about her life? - John screamed, finally. - Then listen very quickly to what I am about to say. Sherlock, please, grab Rosie.

Sherlock agreed and took the small girl on his lap, wrapping her thin legs around his fine waist and kissing the top of her head while he let her lie on his chest.

-This is what you will never have, and I had the honor to have. - John explained.

-Children? I had children.

-I am talking about family, Mr. Watson. - the blonde haired cleared it up, grabbing Sherlock's hand and smiling without fear. - Bceuase, yes, this is my family. I have a beautiful companion who I loved more than anything and we both have a daughter that will learn that the sickness on the world was not the fact that she was created by two dads, but the fact that love was considered a crime in a world where hate is the rule. She will be the girl to be on the streets, claiming for her rights as a woman and a student, she will be the one who understands all of this as a part of history and not as truth. Because mental health is not a choice, life style is not a choice... And love, that, by sure, will never be a choice. Sherlock, my love, take Rosie to Mrs. Hudson.

-Why?

John whispered.

-He is here to pick us up.

That, soon, proved itself right. The father let them pick one object of each. They could have pciked a piece of bread or chocolate.

But John took his diary and Sherlock took a drawing of Rosie.

And they survived the trip.

They survived just with that when they tattooed pink triangles on their arms.

And, in the end, they survived the arrival on the camp, simply because they were still together.

Because love is never a choice.


	12. Elf

For Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, living inside of a concentration camp wasn’t exactly what people would call hell on Earth, but that was only becauseof the fact that, even if he had the minimal condition to get food and self care, he was still keeping himself completely alive and warm only by the warmness of the feeling he felt for doctor John H. Watson. He was still deeply in love, even if he saw the body, once full of good places to hold, getting slowly thiner. Even if both of them were into a war zone, where they prayed every year for the end.

John wrote every day on his old diary, and he still didn’t let Sherlock read the words he marked so firmly into the paper.

They slept together, because there were no enough beds for every prisioner. They were a lot, all wearing the same old clothes and smelling as smoke and sweat mixed together.  
John, sometimes, woke up in the middle of the night with his lips dry and his heavy breathing, but never opened his eyes. But Sherlock knew. He knew he was awake and he knew that, in most of those nights where he woke up with no meaningful sense, he still thought they were at home, with his hands on Sherlock’s curls and with the feeling that everything was going to be just okay, because he was sure someday people would accept him just the way he was.

And sometimes he talked.

Like that night.

Sherlock was hearing his boyfriend’s breathing when it started, because they had the weird costum of only sleeping if their breathing patterns were equal. 

-Sherly, love? – he whispered, first.

-Shh, it’s fine. – Sherlock replied, kissing one of his shoulders and making him fi ton his chest all over again. The bed was very small, and both of them were too big to find a confortable position.

But, they were still the two of them. They were still John and Sherlock, both of them against the rest of the world.

And with world, now they meant the damn nazis.

-Sherly, honey, Rosie is awake. I can hear her crying. – he continued, making his legs touch Sherlock’s tighs. – Can you help her with that? She usually only sleeps when she can find your smell.

Sherlock felt sad enough not to reply. Mostly because of the affirmation about how Rosie feeling safe only when she was on Sherlock’s arms, because it was very true. The girl was so used to the life she had with her two daddies that she felt like Sherlock was her own house.

Once or twice in a day, John found the little girl resting on his boyfriend’s lap, while they slept calmly on the couch or their bed.

-It’s all good, baby. – Sherlock whispered. – She will be just fine, she will.

-Thank you. – he said, not realizing there was no Rosie crying. In her spot, there were lots of other children, dying because they felt hungry or had no water, with very apparent sickness and having their parents taken off of them, just how they took Sherlock and John from Rosie. – Sleep well, I love you.

Sherlock smiled, knowing that, even sleeping, John never lied. And smiled, because he loved him too.

In the other day, they woke up with lots of noise in the bedroom.

-They are gone? – one of the older guys who used to sleep close to them, screamed.

-Who’s gone? – John woke himself and his empathy.

-The twins. They slept right there, doctor Watson. – he replied, pointing at one of the beds.

-They were taken? Do you think they are dead? – John asked.

-Obviously, not. – Sherlock replied, holding his boyfriend’s waist to calm him down. – We all know what they do with twins on here.

-I don’t know, Sherly. – John screamed.

-Well... – Sherlock started. – The doctors who work for nazism are kind of curious about the existence of twins. They generally enjoy taking girl twins and boy twins and... Forcing them to do stuff that they shouldn’t just so they can know if, from that thing, there were be identical twins born from the couple.

-God...

John was red. Inside that place, it always felt like he had no controlo f his emotions, and the anger was the one that always showed up the most. Sherlock held his hand to try to stop him from leaving the bedroom still on his bed clothes and look for the biggest person in control of that place.

He found his dad sitting, smokig a cigarrette while he watched the children carryingsome other dead bodies into the place where the smoke came from.

-How…dare… you? – he screamed, while he pressed his father’s head into the wall. – You forced them into it, didn’t you? You force everyone into doing what you wish, I am tired of this. Since when mother used to scream for you to stop beating her or when I begged for forgiveness. I am tired of your ignorance, I am tired of you, sir, and I wish you nothing less than death, one of those that are painful enough.

-I believe... – father said, suffocating, pointing into his side. – You deserve into that line. Your... partner, is in there.

-What did you say?

-Or you could stay, if you want. – he laughed, coughing a little. – I would love to see you watching your biggest love suffocating into my gas because of you. You two are here because of you.

He dropped his dad. The blonde haired ran into the line, where he took a little time to find his lover, crying because he was there alone,without even saying goodbye. They thought about all the plans, and when they finally foudn a solution, the line walked a little while a firm hand forced them into it.

It was Sherlock’s turn.

A small knife ripped of all his hair little by little, even if it was not an easy job.

John loved all of those curls and how they fell into Sherlock’s shoulders, giving his face some format.

The very defined cheeks. John wished he could touch them a last time.

They took their clothes off, as a formo f humiliating them and making them vulnerable.

John loved that beautiful thin body. He loved the way his back ended in two dimples and how his legs were defined.

They handed them soap, ironically, because all of them knew they were not there for a bath. 

They walked in, all those bodies behidn small showers, that now represented the last breath before the future. The eternal life.

Because, God, if John lived, it was because he was able to live beside that man forever.

They held hands and took a big breath.

And people spoke for months.

Thye spoke about how they died so together, so deeply together, that when they burned them, they couldn’t get their ashes appart. And the ashes stood there together forever.

Because love is never a choice.

Love is never a choice, but it is Always breathtaking.


	13. Epilog

The blonde girl, with her curls hitting the end of her back, ran until her living. She was, as she would not like to admit. ashamed of herself. Ashamed because she was who she was right now and who she never wanted to be: a girl, in love.

She was in love, God, deeply in love. And that, in a certain way, was not good. She felt consumed by that feeling in a way that everything in her seemed like it was filled with agony and concern. Rosamund Watson started too soon into teenagehood to worry about how she looked and how things worked on her head, as a 16 years old, she was already into that situation and didn't see a way to go out.

Because nothing was, in fact, easy.

-Rosie? - the old lady entered her room with a lot of curiosity and concern that only a mother figure would have. - What happend, honey? You can talk to me, I will surely understand.

She cleaned one of the tears that crossed her face and breathed before talking. She wouldn't even hesitate on talking with Martha, as she was like a mother to Rosamund. The old lady behaved like mother and father since Rosie was a baby and, now, she got so used to her presence she couldn't imagine herself anywhere else.

-I think I... I think I am in love.

-Oh! Oh... I am not the right person to five you advice about this now, my daughter. I am not, really. I am only an unmarried woman that never actually lived true love.

-So who is the right person?

The lady whispered and smiled, looking at Rosie's shelf and putting herself into a chair to take, right from the behind, a big box.

-Your father.

-Ah, Martha... My father is not around anymore. - Rosamund answered, slowly caring her own arm.

-I know... And I think he already knew he would not be here today, so he left me this box. It is something I got from your old house and that I got right after the war, when your, welll, your grandfather, handed me whatever John took to the camp. It was specific that I couldn't let you know about this box until you experienced, for the first time, love.

Rosamund looked at a box, with confusion, and hesitated while opening it.

-Right, I will be at the kitchen making ourselves some tea. And the biscuits your father used to make, oh, Sherlock loved those!

The girl smiled when the lady left her all alone.

When she opened it, she could see a drawing of her parents, Mary and John. It was made before the war even began. It was still very well made.

The second drawing, bigger, better, was Sherlock's. It was amazing how anyone could see how beautiful he actually was and how her father could capture his delicate features so well, even in the middle of a war that hit him completely.

The third drawing had the three of them. Sherlock held a baby version of her with much care and attention while John rested on his chair, looking in a lovely way at the two of them.

There were some words at the end of the paper, with confusing letters: "The greatest love story. From you father John and your daddy Sherlock."

Daddy Sherlock. She didn't call him that since she knew the consequences that relationship actually gave to her mother, who now lived in a bigger city with another family.

But it was unfair to him for her to stop calling him daddy.

At last, she found a notebook. Rosamund started reading.

"For my daughter's first love."

"Dear daughter, if I am writing you this, it's because I am certain I will not be by your side to repeat those words, consider this from my heart to yours."

"My love story with Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes was extraordinary, but not complicated."

"He showed up at my door, shaking and needing help. I could have told someone, but I let him in."

"And, after some months, he was not only living in my home: he was a part of me. I could not sleep without hearing his breathing beside my bed."

"And don't think, my beautiful, that the fact of him being a man didn't make any difference. It surely was different and it took me two years to know that what I was feeling was love: my heart was beating for him and me."

"And then, you came into our lives and everything was wonderful. And I loved him even more."

"See, there was a time where I just couldn't not love him, it was something I couldn't control as I used to control the rest of my life. I loved everything about him and made it very clear."

"I loved his curls, I loved the way his eyes changed colours, I loved the pale tone of his skin, I loved how he whispered my name, I loved how he took care of you as if his life actually only mattered if you were alright."

"I loved him so, so much, dying by his side was a blessing. Dying side to side, feeling his smell mixing with mine, seeing the sparkle on his eyes while I wore his clothes, feeling the taste of his lips on mine."

"God, how much I loved him."

"How much I love him, wherever we are right now."

"Listen, my child, I don't mind if you fell in love for a rich or poor man, a rebel girl, a human being no one likes... Because, believe me when I say this: the only approval a lover has to have, is yours."

"I hope that, with that letter, your heart opens up and you realize a love story don't need a historical context to actually be extraordinary and mark lives."

"Love, when sincere and pure, mark the lives of those who look for a reason to live life, complicated as it is."

"And that is why I love you. I love you so much and I hope you make your life wonderful of living."

"Travel, sing, dance, try new types of love, help people."

"And remember that, from where we are, me and your (still beautiful, still very mine) daddy can see you and want to help you."

"With much love, father John and daddy Sherlock, with the story that someday will be told."


End file.
